That simple
by whiteyspidey
Summary: When Emily and Paige break up, both of their lives are thrown into a messy whirlwind. Emily starts realizing the error of her way it may already to be too late as Paige seems to be pursued by someone else. How can the two sharks navigate through the troubled water and will they find redemption ? Or is nothing ever that simple ?Happens during and between episode 511&512. Paige POV


**Author's Notes: Hello. Thank you for clicking my fic. For the readers of my regular fic I would like to apologize for the fact that nothing has been published for more than a week. It is because A) This one short turned out to be longer than I anticipated, but I felt rushing it would cheapen it. B) Work+Uni has been kicking my ass. But worry not. After having gotten this one shot out of my system I will be right back to updating Scar Tissue.**

 **To the rest of you I hope you enjoy this one-shot. Reviews are always appreciated.**

You thought it was never going to end. That is the first thought that enters your mind when she says those words to you.

"...goodbye."

You trusted that you would be together. That whatever nightmare would dawn upon you, you would still be together. That you could comfort her, for whatever hell or high water that would come your way, that you would be able to face it, together, just the two of you. But as the words fall from her lips you realize that won't be the case. She is saying goodbye. She thinks that what you did was wrong. And there is not a single thing that you can do to change her mind. It is that moment where you hear the crack. Your heart bursting into a million little pieces, piercing through your gaze, looking at her, the tears grazing her eyes:

"What are you saying?"

"Goodbye."

And you walk away. Because you know that you can't force it. You respect her too much to do that. She is not your puppet to play with. If she thinks that you should end this you have to respect that decision. So you walk away.

The following days seem to pass away in a blur. You continue the way you always have. You did it before her, even before the day that you admitted to yourself that you might have feelings for her, for the likes of her and you'll be damned if you can't do it again. So you show up for practices, you push yourself to the very edge and even more than that. Coach Fulton comments that you seem to have gotten a new wind, an edge, that pushes you forward to be even more prestigious than you ever were before. She tells you that you should feel proud, that scouts are watching you. But you don't worry, at least not about that. You know that your place at Stanford is already secured. That you are already in, at the place that you always dreamed to get into. Yet you question yourself, is it worth anything if she is not there next to you? But to banish those thoughts to the back of your mind you push even more, you swim a little faster, you race a little harder, because as you tell yourself, if you just get that edge, you can make all these thoughts go away, at least for the time being.

It's during one of those sessions, when you get out of the pool, wiping away the chlorine from your pulsing body that coach Fulton approaches you, telling you to reserve some of that explosive power for the meet that is to come, that you remember that there is still life outside of the one you love but is now lost to you: there is an important swim meeting next week with competitors coming from another town. So you promise that you will tone it down for the next couple of days and maybe not go for your two-swims-a-day regimen anymore to save up some burst for the tournament. Because you need to make sure that even though you don't need to prove yourself anymore that you can get the Sharks into the state final. She seems pleased with your statement and you wonder if she is finally letting you off the hook after your junior year shenanigans. You smile to yourself once you are getting dressed after practice for the first time in a long time. Getting good stats is one thing, getting people to like you is a whole other field. And you might just have caught the hang of that second factor.

But it isn't until you go into your rest period that you realize that as much as you were using your schedule to improve your game, you were also doing it to avoid your own problems. Because now that you can't stay in the pool during all of your off hours, you actually have to face the music. You have to see her across the hall, the one that told you that you were over. You have to avoid her gaze, wondering if there is anything that you can say, anything at all that could make things right.

And it's during one of those nights, where you can't just take a dive to escape your thoughts that you find yourself outside of her house, waiting, hoping that something that you can say could possibly make things right. But it can't. Because of course it can't. She just looks at you with this hopeless expression that breaks you, and tells you that you deserve all the best. But you can't have what's best. Because the best was what you already have. So you just leave, stumbling in your steps, trying to avoid her gaze, feeling the daggers of your own errors digging into your heart.

Thankfully you get some solace in the following days. The swim meet takes up all of your time, preparing Sydney and the other swimmers for the daunting task that is ahead of you. You know that you are competing against a much stronger foe -Birchwood is after all a nationally recognized swimming team, and you know that even if you only give them a good fight, it will be considered a mighty accomplishment.

And that is what you hope for once you hit the waters. You want to show them that even though you don't have your toes where they have their heels that you are still a force to be reckoned with. And that is exactly what you do. Because you are Paige McCullers. A future Stanford student. You came to this meet to wreak havoc. You have a field hockey penalty named after you and you don't pull your punches for anyone. This is who you are and this is what you do. So you lock your eyes on the water, hearing the mark go off as your body flies off the bank and shoots through the water. You barely even feel the water that surrounds your body, because all you can hear is your own heart beating as you count the strokes. You do the turn effortlessly, as if it's the only thing that you have been doing your entire life, and manage to pick up an even quicker pace on the way back, tugging confidently without giving the other lines a moment of thought. The crowd roars in applauds as you pull yourself up from them pool but you try to keep your expectations to the minimum; you know that whatever time you pulled it can't have been enough to overcome the enormous advantage that the Birchwood Bludgers had on you. To your surprise you realize however that your anchoring managed to push you those couple of milliseconds ahead of them and that is all that it took. The team swarms around you, engulfing you in an assuring embrace, yelling victory chants, not believing their own luck or your skillful finale. And then there is you, not really knowing what it was that gave you that final wind, that pushed you enough ahead to ensure this victory. But you rejoice with your teammates while still looking around, hoping to see her in the stands celebrating your triumph as you once used to. But she is nowhere to be found and you bitterly remember her remark about how she could never be the girl on the bleachers watching you win. And it hurts, because you think that if the roles were reversed you would have done it for her without giving it another thought.

Once the celebration is over and you are safely in the lockers again, the place you call home more than anyplace else, you realize that you are not alone. You turn around, half fearful yet with some hope in your heart that she has come back to you, to tell you that despite all the horrible things going down she still feels lucky to have you in her life. But it doesn't turn out to be the correct predicament. Instead you find yourself with alone with a slender looking blond woman, her hair damp from the chlorine water. Your body tenses, not knowing for what purpose she is there and your memory still fresh from that threatening incident that you experienced in your home turf mere days ago.

"Hey there," she says smiling.

"Hello," you say, suddenly feeling awkward with your damp hair and heavy backpack.

"You did pretty great today, in the pool I mean."

"Thanks. It was a lucky streak, really."

"Don't be so modest. You looked like you were flying through the pool."

You blush, remembering the last time that you heard those words, spoken by someone that you treasured so dearly. She said that phrase in a room full of people, sure that she was speaking of a performance by a person that wasn't even in the room and would hear of it later, yet you were there, hanging onto her every word, feeling them somersaulting their way into your stomach, while making sure that you remained hidden. But this is not her, this is an entirely different person, expressing admiration to your skill, for a reason that you are not quite sure of.

"Th-thank you, you weren't half bad yourself. I thought you guys were going to steamroll your way over us."

"Well, we almost did," the other girl says and smiles. "If it hadn't been for your second wind, we most definitely would have."

"I'm sorry?" you say, remembering how angry you would get over your own defeats.

"Don't be. Now we have something to aim towards for next semester," she says. "If my entire team could swim like a McCullers by then, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"How do you know my name?" Paige asks, suddenly feeling nervous.

"They were chanting it once you closed the race, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," you chuckle, feeling very dumb. "I am so rude. You know everything about me and I haven't even asked you your name yet…"

"The name is Grace. Grace Walters. I'm a senior at Birchwood's. Feel better now?"

"Yeah. Nice to meet you Grace."

"It's nice to meet you too Paige McCullers. I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh god, not the thing with the field hockey penalty?"

"No, I heard that you're the only swimmer in the area that got early admission into Stanford on a full ride scholarship."

"Yeah, I did. It was really surprising actually…"

"Are you always this damn modest?"

"Only on Tuesdays," you say and almost want to smack yourself on the head. You like this girl, or at least what you've gotten to know of her, and yet you seem to be able to say nothing that doesn't dig your own grave.

"So, if I were to ask you out tomorrow I would get to see a different side of you?"

"Well, tomorrow is Wednesday so… Wait, what?"

"I'm asking you out Paige. My team isn't leaving until Thursday and I saw these posters advertising a noir movie night tomorrow."

"So, do you want us to go there...together?"

"Yes, that would be preferable."

"Do you mean together, like a date?"

"Yes, like a date. I am officially asking you out on a date."

"Okay. Wow. Really?"

"Yes. Would you like a written invitation too?"

"No, it's just, why me?"

"Because I don't know if you've noticed but I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you since I saw you enter that natatorium. There is something about you Paige, I can't quite put my finger on it. But I'd love to get to know you better."

"Okay."

"So, is that okay to the date or okay to getting to know you better?"

"Date, wait? Both?"

The other girl chuckles and you smile awkwardly at her, wondering why she is being so considerate about your nervous antics.

 _"Why can't flirting be more like swimming?"_ You wonder to yourself as you try to find something appropriate to say. _"You could just count your strokes and keep your pace and everything would be fine."_

"So, I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow," Grace says and picks up her bag. "How about we meet at the square half an hour before the show? It's one of the three things that I know my way to in this town."

"Yep, that sounds great," you say and pull on your most convincing confident smile while feeling your stomach turning into nervous knots. "See you tomorrow."

Once Grace has walked away and you hear the door closing behind her you finally allow yourself to burst out. You do a couple of jumps to let the tension that had been mounting up ever since she started complimenting you and let out a long breath of air, grinning like a fool and feeling amazed by the fact that this is happening to you, Paige McCullers. It feels like you have just entered some kind of alternative reality; a reality where women actually approach and flirt with you shamelessly. As you exit the locker rooms you remember a conversation you had concerning this subject. It has only been a couple of weeks but it feels like ages.

 _"She was totally hitting on you Paige," Emily said to you, poking you in the ribs as you exited the brew with her._

" _What do mean?" you asked her puzzled._

 _You had gone to the Brew to pick Emily up after her shift, but seeing that she needed to work an extra hour you had gotten a book from the shelf to pass the time while she finished._

" _She was just asking me about the book I was reading," Paige argued._

" _That's called a conversation starter," Emily said and rolled her eyes. "I love you Paige but you can be kind of dense sometimes. Especially when it comes to women."_

" _Because women aren't people?"_

 _"Well, they are, but we are subtle creatures. Especially when flirting."_

 _"I just thought she was being nice."_

 _"Well, sometimes being nice can mean flirting. Did you notice how quickly she disappeared when I swooped you in for a kiss?"_

 _"Well yeah. What was that about? You're usually not that affectionate when you're on the clock."_

 _"Well, I might have just gotten really jealous…"_

 _"You did?"_

 _"Maybe. I don't know how you don't notice it, but I've seen a bunch of girls giving you looks."_

 _"They have?"_

 _"Yes. And I think they find you to be quite the catch. I don't really comprehend how it can pass you by that easily."_

 _"I do," you said as you grabbed her hand, turning her to face you. "It's because I only have eyes for you."_

The memory of how her expression softened up as you said those words warms your heart and you remember how you thought that it didn't matter if you would never notice anyone else hitting on you, because you had her and that was all that you needed. But that hadn't turned out to be the case. So now you have a date to go to, with a girl that had managed to get it through your skull that she was flirting with you, because you are Paige McCullers and you are quite the catch, damnit!

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You have barely gotten into your car when you start thinking that this whole thing might be a bad idea. Not because of Grace because she truly seems to be a great gal and you can't deny that you have been enjoying the glances that she gave you at the joint practice that your teams had that morning. But rather it is the fact that you feel like you're going to a job interview, all dressed up, having spent more time on your outfit and hair than you have for the last month combined. Yet when you look at yourself in the mirror and assure yourself that you'll knock her out of her boots you can't help but to think that it is nothing but a costume, an elaborate act where no trace of who you really are is left to be found. But maybe that's a good thing. Grace doesn't know you or any of your history so maybe the best way to move forward is simply to become someone else, even if it is only for a night.

As you drive you think back to the day's events. The subtle glances that passed between the two of you, how it gave you a tingle, a feeling of being wanted instead of feeling like this broken thing that just got chucked away and replaced with something more desirable. She looks at you like you are the only girl in the world all the while you are surrounded by so many girls that you would have thought she'd rather give the time of day. You got out of morning practice feeling like you had received a new boost. You are not just Paige McCullers, the girl that spends more time in chlorine water than with both feet on the ground. You are someone's object of affection. Somebody risked rejection in order to pursue you. You, Paige McCullers out of all people. You are still feeling the glow of that moment once you sat down that afternoon with Emily in the courtyard, discussing the depths of Sydney's betrayal. You could see it in her face that she saw that there is something different about you; you didn't lean in after her anymore, you weren't begging for forgiveness or looking at her longingly. Instead you sat there, looking over at her, finally able to have a word exchange without your broken heart bubbling up to the surface making you say something that you'd come to regret later.

It isn't until you got up to say goodbye that you felt your facade slipping. The two of you did an awkward dance, not really knowing how to say your goodbyes. You felt the impulse to kiss, to embrace, to touch, pulling onto you. Looking up at her you knew that she is thinking the exact same thing. _This is harder than it looks._

The memory of that makes you sigh, wishing that you could just get over that part, skip it somehow. Be in a place already where this is all just a distant memory. Emily has Alison back and is probably very happy with that arrangement, and now you have gotten yourself a date with someone that actually pursued you for once.

"And I'm way too early," you say to yourself while looking for a parking spot. You end up settling for a spot close to the Brew. While taking your seatbelt off the thought hits you that you should probably have brought something for Grace since she was the one that asked you out. Or is it suppose to be the other way around? Is Grace bringing you something? You shake your head, cursing your own inexperience. Your dating history with Emily wasn't exactly linear and what you had with Shana presented itself more as a convenience than anything else, so when it comes to the typical dinner and a movie you has no idea how to be. You stare at the blinking neon lights at the Brew, trying to remember if this is one of the days that Emily is working. No, it was definitely Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday. T-T-S. That's how you used to remember it. So slipping in will not earn you another awkward confrontation.

"Coffee," you say to yourself. "I should get Grace some coffee."

Once you are inside you find to your great relief that a red haired, lanky boy is manning the register, proving that your memory served you right. You wait patiently as he stumbles about, making your coffee, humoring him as he is obviously new. You think that you are in the clear and are about to whisk away when the door to the back room flounces open and in steps one very busy, very much on her shift Emily Fields. You stumble at your words, having thought you were not going to need the walls that you have tried constructing around your heart which you can hear tumbling down as you drink in the sight before you. She is tumbled, her t-shirt a few numbers too big and her raven hair tied up in a ponytail but you still can't avoid thinking how beautiful she is. The two of you try making small talk but as you glance over her shoulder to see the large clock that hangs above the counter you realize that you need to go, so you make your excuses before making an exit, not fully comprehending the look that you leave her with as she stands frozen in place. Could that have been regret?

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You meet up with Grace and make sure to play the perfect gentleman even though you are dressed in heels and a small black dress. But the roll that she had gotten you on the last couple of days seems to have broken and you can't for the life of you figure the rhythm out again. You try playing your role however, hoping that you will catch up to speed soon enough, but not being able to shake the feeling that you are watching someone else.

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You meet Grace again the next day at the locker rooms, knowing that she'll be there as it is the last joint practice for the two teams, at least for the time being. You could have just avoided her, ran out with your hair wet and your sweater unzipped but you decide against it. That is the person that you used to be. Today you are someone that faces up to what you have done, even if that means an awkward confrontation or two.

"Hey there," you say as she turns around to face you.

"Hi," she smiles, noticing your awkward composure.

"How are you?"

"Good, good. And you?"

"I'm fine."

You stand around awkwardly for a few moments, wishing that you knew what you so robustly came here to say but failing to even get your train of thought going. Finally, Grace speaks up:

"Look, Paige. We don't make to need this any more awkward than it needs to be?"

"What do you mean?"

"Last night. We weren't hitting it off. I know that."

"You think so?"

"Don't get me wrong. You were the perfect gentleman. You didn't really do anything wrong. And I thought we had something going on earlier, but when you showed up last night it just looked like you were somewhere else."

"I'm so sorry Grace. It doesn't have anything to do with you. I promise. I just have a lot of stuff going on."

"I get that," she waits around for a few moments, like she's wondering whether she should ask her next question. "Who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"You have someone on your mind. Someone that you aren't quite finished with."

"How do you know?"

"Because, I've been there too. We've all been there Paige. So, am I right?"

"Well, yeah. But it's not like that. I'm not… with anyone, anymore. I would never do that."

"But you want to be?"

"...yes."

"So, why aren't you?"

"It's complicated."

"Too complicated to be fixed?"

"I don't really know anymore. And why do you care so much?"

"Because, Paige, you seem like a great girl. Even though I don't know you very well, I think you deserve to be happy. And it doesn't seem like you are."

"I'm pretty happy. I guess. I just got my scores from yesterday's practice. It was my best time yet. Apart from the swim meet."

"That's great. But that's not what I mean…"

"You can't have everything that you want," you mumble as you avoid her gaze. "Things just aren't that simple…"

"But you can try," she says and looks at you. "Look, if I can ask out a random girl that I think is cute and risk getting rejected, which is very much what is happening to me right now, who is to say that you can't go after the one that you really want?"

"I don't know. It might not work out…"

"Paige McCullers, I just watched you single handedly drag your entire team into nationals with nothing but your own determination. Whatever that went wrong, I'm sure that you can fix it."

"Why are you being so helpful?"

"Because, as much as I like getting what I want, I know when it's my time to step aside. You are a great girl Paige. You deserve to be happy. So go get what you want. I know you can. They didn't name that penalty after you for not being assertive."

"You knew about that?"

"M-hm."

"And you still wanted to go out with me?"

"I did. And I had a pretty good time. So all in all it was a win-win situation. Look, I knew that whatever this was it probably wasn't going to last. Even if we would have hit it off I would still be living in another town and going to a university across the country next year."

"So, why did you do it?"

"Because I wanted to have a good time."

"Even if it ended with you getting hurt?"

"You can't think your whole life in terms of endgames McCullers. Sometimes you just have to wing it. You think too much. Sometimes you've just gotta trust your gut."

"I wish these things were more like swimming."

"Maybe they are. Anyway, I need to go. Me and the rest of the team are going to go hiking before we have to get back to Birchwood. You are welcome to join if you want to."

"Thanks. I'd like that. But I kind of have something I need to do today."

"No sweat. I'll see you around."

"Next swim meet?"

"You bet. And you better stay on top of your games because I'm telling you, the gloves are coming off!"

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The afternoon rolls around without any major events. You feel how a gigantic weight has been lifted off your shoulders after the conversation with Grace and you grin at her message about having gotten safely from the hike without being mauled by bears and you wonder if you'll be able to squeeze in another swim after class. You comb absent mindedly through your hair while walking to your math class and wondering how many times you'll have to wash it before getting all the product out that you so dutifully smeared on it to get into your costume for the Film Noir Night. As you bask in the feeling of the mask slipping off and finally becoming yourself again you are interrupted by a thump and an annoyed groan, making you screech in your tracks. You automatically reach down to pick up whatever it was that fell at your feet and look up to find a very disheveled Emily Fields, reaching for the book that you are holding in your hand. You are expecting to freeze; to choke on your words, to make an even bigger fool of yourself than you have before. But for whatever reason the two of you slip into a comfortable banter, like the last couple of weeks have ceased to exist, like it's only the two of you in this whole world, exchanging smiling glances.

She talks about Thanksgiving preparation, and coincidentally her infamous Christmas routine, sounding worried as she admits to being worried that she's totally behind.

 _"I'd build you an entire Christmas Village inside a damn snow globe if that could get that troubled look off your face. I would wrap you up and keep you safe,"_ you think but don't say. Instead you offer your assistance which she gracefully accepts before asking you about that night where you showed up at the Brew wearing your little black dress, which you're pretty sure that she left at your place, but you don't mention that. Instead you tell her the truth, the part of it that matters anyway, that you were trying on a costume that didn't really fit you. She looks relieved before remarking that the two of you never had your talk and you realize that at this moment you would rather be doing anything else with her rather than having a tedious talk that will do nothing but tangle up a situation that is already complicated enough. But getting across that chasm that is the dead zone, the place where the two of you have nothing but hungry glances and unsaid things, to somewhere that you could start building towards something, is large and full of terrors. You look down into it, one final time, seeing the monsters that lurk inside it: rejection, fear, hurt, before taking a deep breath and bracing yourself, like you did that day when you anchored for all that you are worth, and with the same determination you lean confidently towards her, planting an assertive kiss on her lips.

You pull back, surprising yourself, as you are usually the one that leans in for more. She looks equally surprised, opening her mouth a couple of times to make a comment but eventually settling for a simple smile that you return with a grin and shrug, before realizing that you are late for a class and scampering away.

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Mr. Rogers ends up piling you with so much Trig homework that your evening swim turns into a nocturnal one. Once you finally shove your books into the locker, you realize that there doesn't seem to be another soul around for miles.

"Doesn't matter," you tell yourself, pulling your sports bag out and heading for the natatorium. Going home will just mean over thinking and obsessing about today's events but if you get a few more laps done you might start feeling again like you have some semblance of control over your destiny. A few laps turn into many and you don't get out of the pool until eleven. If there were few people around when you got in, the school is definitely deserted now that you are getting out. You get a little nervous standing alone by your locker, not feeling like it's the same safe place that it used to be before you started getting targeted for your refusal to take sides. When you're zipping up your sports bag you hear a movement coming from the far side of the locker room, making your back strain from fear. You look around trying desperately to pin down where the movement is coming from but to no avail. As you find panic ridden tears forming up in your eyes you turn around to find that the person responsible for the ruckus is standing right behind you. It's Emily Fields.

"Jesus!" you exclaim as your body relaxes, making you almost collapse down to the benches. You lean against the lockers for support as you try to even your breath out again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," she says, looking apologetic. "I just finished my shift and I noticed your bike outside. I wanted to come see you."

"To talk?" you ask, remembering your previous comment about how you were tired of talking. Maybe she is already resenting you for it, remembering how problematic your damn impulsiveness can be. You're not sure if you want to know the answer, so you shrug involuntarily after posing the question, avoiding her gaze.

A few moments pass. You feel like you're engaging in a silent dance, except that neither your feet nor the rest of your bodies are moving. It is a quiet dance of the minds, with both of you wrestling to come through to one another. It's strokes in water, turns and tumbles, all while trying to come up for air at the correct moments. You hold your breath. When will you be able to come up for air? You feel like you're unable to breathe, like there is a riot brewing in your heart, with people firing up their torches and branding their pitchforks. You don't speak, not daring to look up, not wanting that hopeful feeling that the stolen kiss this afternoon gave you to fade away. Because hope is a fickle thing isn't it? There are some days that you feel that it breeds nothing but eternal misery. And today could be one of those days. Tonight could be the night where Emily found you in the locker room to tell you that the kiss was a mistake and that it was just you acting impulsively as usual. That she shouldn't have kissed you back and did it purely out of surprise. And the moment that you look up, she could deliver that fatal blow to you, so your head remains dipped, your arms stiff to your sides, fighting to keep your eyes off that beautiful face that you know by heart. But thinking of that you find yourself unable to resist. You want to look at her, to be able to gaze into those gorgeous, dark eyes one more time, even if it's just while listening to her telling you that the two of you are over for good. Over forever. You will not take your judgement sitting down but standing up, brave and proud, like the girl that you have become because she loved you. She made you into who you are today and to not to remind her of that as she says goodbye would be an insult to everything that you used to have. So you turn your head up with a brave look on your face, zooming in on her eyes.

The first thing that you notice is that she doesn't look sad or angry. Instead, she looks remorseful, like she has a heart full of pins and needles. And just like you she seems like she's unable to come up for air. Her mouth opens up a bit and then closes again, just like she did when you surprised you with that kiss but then she settles on looking intensely back at you. And then the wave hits you, in the form of one Emily Fields, that charges you with full force. You feel the softness of her full mouth as she crashes into you. The force pushes you into your locker, producing a loud smash when your head smashes into the upper part but you couldn't care less. Because she is there, up against you, so close, ever so close, ravaging your mouth which welcomes the intrusion with gusto. You feel her hesitating, dipping her head slightly, and you wonder if she's going to pull away, back out and apologize for what she's doing. There are words of apology coming from her mouth, but to your surprise they are about something else entirely.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything," she mutters so close that you feel the warmth of her breath against your skin. "I should have trusted you. I should have done… everything so differently."

"It's okay. It's okay," you shush, kissing the top of her head as you feel a tear drifting down the nook of your neck where she has nestled her face. "I get it. I do. I really do."

"You don't have to say that," she says turning her face towards you.

"I know. But I want to," you say as you look at her, taking in everything, every frown, every shade that the semi-darkness of the room throws on her face as she cranes her neck to lay her lips against yours again.

You feel flustered, surprised, ecstatic all at the same time, the emotions washing over you like a tsunami while you kiss this beautiful, wonderous girl back. You need her, right at this moment, and judging by the intensity that radiates off of her as her hands grab your hips pushing herself against them, she feels the same way. You could break it up to go somewhere more private and personal, to your house or hers, even a hotel room to avoid playing one hundred questions with your folks, but as you return her embraces frantically you realize that you can't. Not because you are afraid that she might change her mind but because this is a moment that you refuse to exit or put on a pause, even if only for a few moments. So you shift, moving away from the lockers grabbing Emily's hands and pulling her towards the door in the corner. You know these halls, you have trained here, crushed here, loved here and before that, spent a considerable amount of time hiding here. And now, for once, you thank god for that last part, as you guide the goddess holding your hand towards the hidden place that used to be your shady sanctuary. You give the door a gentle push, revealing a storeroom filled with mattresses, gymnastic equipment and field hockey sticks, but you don't look at any of it, even for a moment, because you can't take your eyes off the woman before you.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Emily asks, suddenly shy. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No. It's not that," you assure her before blurting out: "You're just so damn pretty."

You feel like biting your tongue. You sound like such a ginormous dork. If putting your foot into your mouth was an Olympic sport you'd have colleges fighting over you to get them to join their team. But Emily just looks at you, letting out the most wonderful, sincere bout of laughter that you have heard in a long time. It doesn't sound like she's had many of them recently as it is followed with a deep sigh of relief as she brushes a lock of hair out of your face:

"Come here."

As she pulls you close again you feel all other thoughts drift away. Doubts, insecurities, worries all wash away as you feel your back against the wall, with Emily pressing forcefully against you. While pinning your arms up she dips down and places kisses on your neck, gentle at first but turning more aggressive as her mouth trails down towards your collarbone. You hear a loud, guttural moan and you wonder briefly if it came from her but blush as you discover that it was you who made it without even registering. You can feel her smiling against your skin as she nibbles on your tender flesh.

" _That is definitely going to leave a mark,_ " you think to yourself before realizing that you don't really give a damn. Heck, you'll walk across the Rosewood square tomorrow with a neon sign on top of your head spelling out "Emily Fields gave me a hickey!" if that meant you could continue feeling the way you do when her lips graze back up your neck and end up on your own as she gives you a tender kiss. Her grip on your wrists loosens up and she slips her fingers against yours before pulling your arms downwards, placing your fingers at the hem of her shirt.

"Please," is the only thing that she says, looking at you with such vulnerability and wanting that you want to wrap her up close and never let go. You need to feel close to her. So you strip off her shirt before flinging it into the far corner where it lands with a thud before you hear something crashing down beside it. Emily's mouth forms a large surprised O as you mumble "Woops!" before you both look at one another, bursting into a laugh that turns into a gentle hum as you embrace each other again. You feel her hands caressing the small of your back and you marvel at each movement she makes, every swirl that her tongue makes against yours. Every moment that ticks on by with her being there with you, yours, so completely yours. And then your t-shirt is off, her skin is against your own and the entire world seems to fade away into white, sweltering bliss.

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It is not until afterwards, once you have finally wrestled yourself with force out of each other arms, and you are fumbling for your clothes in the dark that you let out a small chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asks you, smiling as she sees how happy and carefree you look.

"Nothing. Okay, it's just, I was thinking about what if I could go back in time and tell past me that one day I would be making love to Emily Fields in the locker room storeroom, right next to the swimming pool where we spent most of our time," you admit, dipping your head.

"Do you think she'd be freaked out?"

"Yeah, she'd be all like 'Holy crap! Time travel is real!' But apart from that I think she'd get like really scared and super turned on at the same time. Which is a lot of things for a fifteen year old to feel."

"Well. I guess I would probably feel the same way," Emily says and throws her hands in the air. "I can't find my shirt. I swear you threw it in this direction."

"Do you think it went into the ball pit?"

"Maybe. It's in the vicinity."

"Then I'm afraid it has gone into the place of no return. I'm sorry. Wait a minute," you jog out of the room, returning promptly with your gym bag in hand. You fish up a white shirt with blue sleeves, handing it to her. "Here. I had an extra. Just in case."

"This is so you," she says looking at the picture on the front before pulling over her head. "It even smells like you."

"Like chlorine and an overload of deodorant?"

"No. It smells like Paige."

You are interrupted by a buzz and Emily pulls her phone out:

"Crap. My parents are freaking out about me not being home yet. It's getting really late."

"Yeah, it is. Come on. I'll walk you home."

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You wake up the next day feeling lighter than you have for a long time. School flies by, including Trig, as your head is still in the clouds from last night. You get a text from Emily after your third period, telling you that she has to cover a shift after school but that she wants to start Christmas preparation right away once she's done. You text her back, telling her that you have swim practice after school anyway and that you'll meet here in front of the Brew once her shift is done. You hustle after you're out of the water, drying your hair, pulling on your jacket and after a moment's glance at the mirror in your locker you wrap a checkered scarf around your neck. Even if you felt like it at the moment, it's probably better not to advertise that you've gotten involved with Emily again, at least not until you talk it over with her.

She glows with joy as she spots you standing outside the brew. She has two coffee cups in hand and underneath her jacket you can see that she is still wearing your shirt.

"Hey," she says and plants a kiss on your lips, noticing that you're still glancing at the shirt that she's wearing. "I hope you don't mind me hanging on to it. But before we start decorating I need to slip into something a little more… Christmas-y."

"Am I finally going to see that famous Christmas t-shirt of yours?" you ask, accepting the cup that she passes you.

"Which one? I have several," she says strolling next to you.

"You have more than one Christmas shirt?" you ask, trying to act casual about the fact that she has linked her arm to yours.

"I do," she says. "And if you prove yourself to be a good little helper, I might give you one of them."

You stroll in silence for a few blocks, sipping your coffee, enjoying the cold crispness of the afternoon and the winter sun that still shines in the sky. You hear her sighing.

"What is it Em?" you ask.

"It's just, I wish that things could just be simple for once. That this whole dredged A business could be over and I could finally just be happy you know? With you."

"One day it will pass," you say. "We will figure something out. Together. Everything will be all right. You'll see."

"It's just not that simple," she says as she grits her teeth.

"Well, nothing in life is simple," you assure her.

"That's not true," she says and stops her gait, turning towards you.

"What do you mean?" you ask as she clasps your hands before giving you a kiss.

"The way that you love me is just that simple."


End file.
